


Steve Pretty Boy Harrington: A Threat To Cocks Of All Shapes And Sizes

by Still_beating_heart



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: M/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:40:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26934508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Still_beating_heart/pseuds/Still_beating_heart
Summary: Billy stumbles upon a frazzled Steve Harrington running from an aggressive cock.------------The cock is giving good chase.  The little curly haired kid seems to have given up, when Billy cranes his neck to look down the tracks, he’s bent forward catching his breath with his hands on his knees, hollering, “stop running!”“You’re provoking the cock,” Billy adds to the conversation.  Probably ain’t the first cock good old Pretty Boy has provoked.Steve stops in his tracks, whirling around to face Billy.  So wrapped up in running for his life that he didn’t realize he had an audience.  He swipes a hand through his hair, shoots Billy a dirty look, and turns his focus on the bird that’s hopping towards him.  Feathers ruffled, red dangly thing swaying from side to side.  It’s orange neck, shoulders; red mohawk and beard blend in well with the Fall colors coating the woods around them.------------
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29
Collections: Cocktober Prompt Meme





	Steve Pretty Boy Harrington: A Threat To Cocks Of All Shapes And Sizes

**Author's Note:**

> Written for prompt: Teeth

Billy leans back against the cool metal of the Camaro, hot engine rumbling beneath the hood. Lighting a smoke and watching the train roll down the tracks. He cranks the music loud enough to hear it over the metallic clang and chug of the train’s engine. 

He headed out past the tracks to get the hell out of that house. Take a ride, alone with her and her engine’s purr, the thrill of dropping gears on a slippery rain-slicked road in the backwoods with not another damn vehicle in sight. He only turned around when he was down to his last smoke. 

The red and white rail, and blinking red lights a challenge that he nearly took. Wanting to floor it, see if she had what it took to beat the train. Instead he pulled the e-brake, threw her sideways, and jarred to a stop in the middle of the two-lane country road to watch the train pass.

The cooling Autumn air nipping at his knuckles as he takes a slow puff, counting train cars. Drumming along to Highway To Hell as it breaks through the roar of the train. The last car in sight, he cracks his neck, looking skyward for a moment of peace, gathering the strength to return back to that house. That place that’ll never be home. 

The sound of the train disappearing as it chugs on down the line. If he ran now he might be able to catch it. Hop aboard and leave Hawkins behind.

He snorts to himself, knowing he’d make a bad vagabond anyway. Flicks the butt of his last cig towards the blacktop, still damp with rain, reflecting the lowering sun of October. Vibrant oranges, reds, and yellows line the highway, scattered in the wind and lingering on green grass that’s starting to die back now. Even the sharp contrast of the leaves can’t brighten the dull grey of the sky over this shithole town.

He yanks the door open, aborting his slide back into the driver’s seat when he hears a commotion that makes him turn down AC/DC and kill the engine.

“Just hit it with the bat Steve!” the voice of one of the little runts that hangs out with his sister, half-sister, sometimes. Not a voice he can actually identify with a face, but it’s not like it matters. Those nerds are all the same anyway.

“It didn’t do anything, I’m not gonna kill it,” Harrington’s voice is pitched high, tight with exertion maybe. 

Billy cranes his neck towards the sound, turns his head to see Harrington running down the tracks. Spiked bat in one hand, his hair flopping forward into his eyes before he can shove it back again. 

Billy feels himself smirk, wondering what that idiot is running away from when he’s got a perfectly good weapon in his grip. He sighs, walking to the hood of the car, and leaning against it. Whatever it is, it’ll be like watching the Macy Parade or whatever it is that he used to watch with his mom on Thanksgiving morning. 

He can’t stifle the laugh that escapes him when he hears a rooster crow, and Steve’s scrawny body comes barreling into view. He’s making quick work of the tracks, but his survival instincts clearly suck. Running in a straight line? Running away from a bird? Of course it’s going to give chase. Running from a cock, shows that the cock is dominating the scene, and he’ll just keep right on chasing.

His grey jacket is unzipped and flapping in the breeze, his hairspray is not holding his quaff in perfect place. Apparently he needs a new brand. 

The cock is giving good chase. The little curly haired kid seems to have given up, when Billy cranes his neck to look down the tracks, he’s bent forward catching his breath with his hands on his knees, hollering, “stop running!”

“You’re provoking the cock,” Billy adds to the conversation. Probably ain’t the first cock good old Pretty Boy has provoked.

Steve stops in his tracks, whirling around to face Billy. So wrapped up in running for his life that he didn’t realize he had an audience. He swipes a hand through his hair, shoots Billy a dirty look, and turns his focus on the bird that’s hopping towards him. Feathers ruffled, red dangly thing swaying from side to side. It’s orange neck, shoulders; red mohawk and beard blend in well with the Fall colors coating the woods around them.

“Where the hell did it come from?” Billy wonders, chewing on the inside of his cheek, wishing he had saved that smoke.

Steve stances up, holds the bat like he’s actually going to do something about it, and then wimps out when the bird charges him. He jolts to the side, slides off the wet iron of the tracks, trips over the wooden tie but manages to stay on his feet. He pauses long enough to look proud of himself for not landing on his pretty face in the gravel. His brown eyes dart over to flit across Billy’s face, an idea clearly forming in his mostly empty brain. He crouches down to get a sprinter’s start, bolting out of his imaginary starting blocks and aiming full speed ahead towards Billy.

“I don’t fuckin’ think so, Pretty Boy,” Billy grumbles.

“Open the door!”

“Hell no, you are not trapping a goddamn cock in my car.”

“I’m getting in your car, asshole, and we’ll leave the cock behind.”

“And your little nerd friend too?”

Steve huffs, “just open the door!”

Billy rolls his eyes, hustling when he realizes he’s low on time, Steve is pretty damn close. He drops into the driver’s seat, turning the engine to life as he leans across to shove the passenger side door open while Steve launches himself into the car. The door isn’t shut before Billy floors it, throwing the Camaro onto the tracks to grab whatever nerd that is that’s still trying to regain his breath. 

Steve shoves the door open and grabs the kid by the backpack to tug him into the car. 

“You’re lucky the train went by already,” grumbling towards the tracks laid out in front of them, at the same time wondering if he stayed on them, if they’d hit a train head on rounding the bend. But Billy’s not plannin’ on taking anyone with him when he goes, so he throws gravel as he peels the tires and kicks out ruts in the grass of the ditch before he rights the Camaro on the two-lane highway. Leaving the tracks and the disgruntled cock behind.

“Why were you running from a cock anyway? Thought you liked cock,” he adds with a smirk.

“Your cock, Billy, I like your cock. That one was going to bite me,” Steve tells him, shoving the nerd off his lap and into the backseat, “watch the gearshift,” mumbling towards the kid.

“Cocks ain’t got teeth Harrington,” Billy turns his head to watch Pretty Boy’s flustered expression, eyes wide when Billy winks at him.

“No, but they have creepy red dangly things on their chins, and spurs on their legs that could slit your skin open.”

Billy chuckles, letting the little nerdy kid take up the helm of telling Steve and the car in general, facts about roosters. 

———————

Dustin, apparently, is the kid’s name. Dropped him off at his house, headed towards the swanky neighborhood that Harrington lives in before he looked over at Steve, drumming his fingers in the passenger side, watching the low Autumn sun hanging over the tree line on the horizon, and decided he didn’t need to be home for dinner anyway. Screw Susan. Screw Dad. Screw Max. 

He skids out on the corner, jerks the wheel and heads back out of town. Steve’s head turns to watch him, wondering silently what he’s doing. Maybe he’s taking him out to a cornfield to kill him and bury him. Maybe he’s taking him to the junkyard to toss him to the quarry below.

“Relax Pretty Boy,” he quirks an eyebrow at him, “just wanna show you what to do next time you get attacked by a ruthless cock.”

A flush creeps up his cheeks before he can turn his head away from Billy, clearing his throat, “how do you know what to do with a,” he clears his throat again, decides on, “aggressive rooster?”

“None of your business why I know. I just know. Common sense maybe.”

Steve huffs out a disbelieving sigh, biting back a comment. He’s silent until Billy pulls into a field of dead grass, shifting to park and killing the engine. Billy elbows him, jerking his head towards the door. Steve rolls his eyes, but obeys, pushing the door open to exit into the damp, cool night.

Billy rounds the car, quickening his steps to take Steve by surprise, grasping his collar and backing him up against the car, leaning into his space until his entire body is flush to Steve’s. It isn’t until he sees a flash of Pretty Boy’s teeth that he closes the distance, dragging his tongue along his lower lip before darting into the heat of him. 

Steve’s hands rise up automatically to press into Billy’s lower back, planting them firmly together through the layers of clothes. He’s quick to meet him at the entrance of his teeth, marking off his territory with a sensuous swipe of his tongue against Billy’s right before he pulls his head back. Effectively breaking the kiss to grin at him, “what about that ruthless cock, Hargrove? I was promised,” his hand slides under the fabric of Billy’s shirt, tugging it out of his jeans, making Billy take a sharp breath when his fingers dart under the material to skirt over his hard dick, “an aggressive cock.”

“Last I checked you were runnin’ from cock,” it’s half mumbled against Steve’s lips, “don’t wanna scare you so bad that you’ll never come back for more.”

Steve mulls it over while his tongue chases Billy’s past his lips, tangling for a moment as soft hums tumble between them, “not possible,” he finally responds, then his thinking face makes an appearance and all Billy can do is roll his eyes and listen, “they’re kind of impressive though, right? Not everyone could pull off having an empty ballsack hanging off their chin. And still look cool, with that strut. Still be kind of intimidating. They’re pretty rad.”

“An empty ballsack?”

“That’s what it looks like,” his voice goes a little high, waiting for Billy to tease him.

“Let’s talk about,” darting forward to nip at his bottom lip, “empty ballsack chins after you empty my ballsack, huh?”

He pretends to think it over for a split second before shrugging, cold fingers finally popping the button on Billy’s jeans, “they’re not much different than people either, ya know,” of course he’s still talking, even with a handful of hard cock, “they aren’t born to be aggressive,” planting an off-centered kiss on Billy’s mouth, “they only react to how they’re treated. I probably scared him, or threatened his roost or something.”

“Mmm,” Billy agrees poetically, “Steve Pretty Boy Harrington, a threat to cocks of all shapes and sizes.”

He breathes out a laugh against Billy’s mouth that sends a chill down his spine, he’ll blame it on Steve’s cold hands finally wrapping around his hard dick. But he’s pretty sure Steve already knows it’d be a lie, “at least there’s one cock I’m a threat to,” his lips tick up into a smile that Billy wipes off his face by engaging his tongue while Steve’s free hand slips though his hair, cradling his head in the palm of his hand and deepening the kiss. 

———————

“You’re not much different than a cock, Billy,” Steve tells him later when he pulls up to the curb in front of the Harrington Palace.

Billy groans, “still on this?”

“It was a big day, okay? Not every day you get chased by a feathered cock down the railroad tracks,” wide eyes landing on Billy in the dim glow of the streetlight that’s pouring through the windows of the Camaro.

“Okay, I’ll give ya that,” chewing on his lip, wishing a smoke would appear out of thin air. Raising his eyebrows at Steve to proceed in his observations.

He’s watching Billy intently while he speaks, probably having to dig pretty deep to find the right words, ones that won’t piss Billy off, and ones that Steve can pronounce properly. Match made in heaven they are. He watches as Billy’s hand rises off the gearshift, slips down his arm and links their fingers. 

Steve dips his brows for a moment, the internal debate still raging, but the hand-holding finally has the proper effect, knowing Billy’s not in the mood for teasing him. Judgement free zone or somethin’. 

“All loud and flashy. Know how to walk the walk,” his eyes seem to be locked onto Billy’s mouth, using the curl in the corners of his lips to gauge his reaction, “but most of it’s done to protect their flock, or their territory,” a half smile rises when he finishes his announcement, then he lifts their hands to his lips, presses a kiss to Billy’s knuckles before rolling out the door with a thunk of his fist on the hood as he rounds it.

Billy rolls down the window to remind him, “I might have the strut Pretty Boy, but you’re the one with the fancy chicken hair.”

He turns to walk backwards a few paces, a goofy grin plastered to his face as he slides his hand through his quaff, “guess it’s a good thing I got an aggressive cock to defend my honor then,” hopping up the steps, disappearing into the house with a small wave.

Billy waits at the curb until the light in his bedroom window flicks on. Turning the engine, letting it roar to life, he peels rubber on the fancy freshly paved road. Give the old rich assholes something to bitch about. And probably proving Steve’s point that he’s loud and flashy. But if today has proven anything, it’s that he’s not the only cock that’s obsessed with Steve Harrington’s ass.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to  
> [ CockAsInTheBird ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CockAsInTheBird) for the fun prompt list :)
> 
> Thanks to [ gunpowderandsunshine ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gunpowderandsunshine/pseuds/gunpowderandsunshine) for being an awesome friend, a great supporter and feeding me some of the best lines in this thing :)
> 
> Kudos are super rad!  
> 


End file.
